Fire and Ice
by HappierThanMost
Summary: Brothers fight, but when Sodapop and Darry go at it, Ponyboy is feeling uneasy


_It's time for your weekly shot!_

 **FIRE AND ICE**

My eyes jolt open and my breath sucks in when I hear it. "Sodapop Patrick…get your ass out here!", Darry's thundering yell startles the dark and quiet house. I let my breath out again and Soda's slowly stirring beside me. I nudge him on the shoulder. "I betcha he found it," I whisper.

Soda sits up on the side of the bed, shoulders slumped, his head rolling on his neck, popping about a dozen bones, acting like he hasn't a care in the world. He runs his hand down his face and sleepily replies, "What? That? Naw. It's buried so deep in that closet. Ain't nobody finding that."

Darry's booming threat of "Soda, don't make me come drag you out here by them sticks you call arms," has got me a little tense, but Soda just lazily saunters out the door, eyes half open, to find out exactly why our older brother isn't letting him get much beauty sleep tonight.

Their conversation starts quiet enough and I can't make out much. I roll to my side and stare out the window. The curtains are bathed in silvery light and are starting to stir against the breath of an early spring breeze. It calls to me, luring me to smoke, but I'm too tired to stand. The clock reads 11:57 and Darry's home late after a rare night out with the guys from his roofing outfit. I'm guessing the beers didn't help his mood this time, and I realize I'm rubbing the edge of my pillow case between my thumb and fingers. Childhood habits have a way of still sneaking their way back when you're nervous. Even when you're fourteen.

Now that I hear "speeding ticket" my hunch has been proven correct. I knew he'd get caught when Soda got pulled over for flying through a construction zone. When the surly officer walked away from the truck window, my grinning brother turned to me and simply put his one finger to his mouth. "Shhh," he told me and my lips were sealed. He planned on paying it off himself and hid it in our room. But that was three months ago and something tells me it didn't get taken care of. And now here we are.

Things are starting to get heated so I sit up, turning my good ear, the one that doesn't have shower water from three damn hours ago trapped in it, towards the door as if that might help. Nothing's worse than a Darry and Soda fight. It's downright ugly and can last for days. Even the gang won't come around the house among the fallout from one of their legendary duels, when the fire of Sodapop clashes up against the cold ice that is Darry. "Try living inside it," I always tell them.

 _Soda is beelining it to the kitchen after school to find Darry. I'm just an innocent bystander with my notebooks and pencils all spread out before me on the table. Darry is shutting the refrigerator door and turns to Soda with a pleasant enough face, having no clue what's got Soda in this whirlwind of seething rage. Soda's clenched teeth look so white against his flushed face when he takes his jacket and flings it hard against the floor. "Darry, you dick," he's managed to find his words. Thank God Mom's at work right now._

 _Darry never loses his cool. He's taking a bottle opener to the coke top, then puts on the stare as he takes the top and flings it right at Soda's chest. "Throw that away for me," he says in a deep and dominating voice when it bounces off Soda and hits the floor. I nervously clear my throat and start quietly packing my books cause I know where this is headed._

 _Soda goes on about how Darry stole some girl of his and Darry is defending himself, almost amused by Soda's assumption. "Soda," he says firmly. "She asked ME to the dance. Ever heard of Sadie Hawkins?" he's belittling Soda. "Lizzie's my friend. I'm not gonna turn her down all cause you got some schoolboy crush. She's my age. You're a freshman. She don't even know who the hell you are, boy."_

 _And I've almost managed to slink away, all of my school things gathered up in my arms, when Soda screams out "That's bullshit!" and runs full force through the kitchen. He cocks back his arm and his elbow slams into my books causing them all to waterfall right down onto the linoleum._

 _I stay up close against the wall and watch them go at it. Soda launches onto Darry like a bat out of hell but Darry's ready for him. They're now a tangled mass of two bodies, slamming into the counter, then against the wall. Although they look like they're killing each other, there are never closed punches thrown. We do have unspoken rules as brothers and nobody's ever gonna throw something that'll break bones or teeth._

I remember the fallout from that fight lasting about three days. Sodapop refused to speak to Darry, which Darry was more than okay with. He went to his dance and made sure he spoke loudly to Mom and Dad when they asked how it was. "Best night of my life," he announced smiling, and Soda answered with a glare and a middle finger behind our parents' backs.

Soda is the only one of us in the gang who would ever take Darry on like that. It's always been that way. I guess it's 'cause they're so close. Or Soda's hot head. It's amazing how someone can go from so easygoing to explosive just like a struck match. It would seem he's no competition for Darry, but he always gives him a good run for his money. I actually think Darry appreciates somebody challenging him. Whenever we're talking with the guys about fighting and rumbles, Darry always makes everyone laugh when he describes Soda. "Shit y'all. Sodapop flies at people like some fuckin' firecracker. I'm tellin' ya," he says shaking his head and grinning. "When you're the one he's aiming for, its a sight to behold." It's all in good fun and Soda laughs the hardest, knowing full well he's hell on wheels when he gets crazy like that.

But tonight, it isn't so funny. I'm now biting my nails hearing their voices escalate. Apparently a notice came through the mail about the failure to pay the ticket and the penalty which now doubles the fine. Soda's trying to explain that he had every intention to pay it. Not wanting to bother Darry with it. He just didn't realize the due date, but Darry ain't having any of it. He keeps talking him down every time Soda tries to state his case. Now Darry has launched into the whole "drowning in bills" speech and is telling Soda he sure ain't pulling his weight around here. And now it's officially on. We all know how much Soda's working, and Darry's statement is a low blow.

I'm sitting at the edge of the bed now, my fingers drumming against my knee, and I'm staring at my wiggling toes, wondering if I should head out there once they start up with the threats. "Who the fuck do you think you are Darry?" Soda's question is loaded with venom. And Darry, with his own bite says, "Why don't you come over here little man and I'll show you."

I've never been a good middle man. I sure don't have the strength yet to break up any physical fight between them. And I don't have the skills that Soda has to step in and pacify two raging warriors either. He's always been capable of soothing every ego involved, leading each to the peaceful middle of the battlefield. He's a man who plays both sides, and with that, he's playing everybody right into the palm of his hands and most don't even recognize it.

These are the nights I miss my Dad. It's unsettling now when it's my older brothers fighting. I'm used to it being Darry and me having a shouting match here and there, with Soda trying to make the peace. Darry, being so much older, would never get physical with me out of anger. He only knocks me around in horseplay. I'm even okay with Soda and I having our rounds, and Darry telling us to knock it off. But, I'm not sure what to do when those two go at it. My Dad knew how to handle them, and I really need him tonight. He'd simply go out to the living room and practically manhandle everybody into their bedrooms, forcing people to shake hands and apologize, giving Soda an extra swat when his apologies were dripping with a vengeful sting. He once even made Darry and Soda sleep out back for the night, in our weathered, abandoned childhood tent, just so they'd have to be in close, uncomfortable quarters. He doled out one blanket and one pillow. "Make it work," he told them gruffly. Mom crept out later in the night with piles of quilts and a plate of cheese sandwiches.

I'm just about to stand up and take my part in this family showdown, though I'm not really sure what awaits me out there but a ringside seat, when I hear Darry get a hold of himself and interrupt Soda. "Go cool off before you run that mouth and get into something you don't want no part of." I can tell his jaw is clenched as he says it and now I hear footsteps. When the door creaks open and I squint at the light suddenly spilling in, I'm shocked to see Soda standing there, shocked because he hasn't already tackled Darry and the fight of the century isn't taking place on our living room floor right now. He comes into the room with a heavy sigh and heads for the open window. I wrap back up in my covers and watch him light a cigarette, run a hand through his bedhead, and his exhale of smoke is a steady stream escaping the window and mingling with the damp chill.

"What happened?" I ask him, knowing it's a pretty dumb question. He isn't answering yet. His eyes are fixated on something. Then he says without looking at me, still staring straight ahead, "You've met Darry haven'tcha? He's that asshole who lives down the hall?" I can't help but chuckle at this. Soda's sarcasm can always get me going even in the worst situations.

"What are you lookin' at out there?" I question as he takes another long draw off the smoke. I can't believe his face isn't angry at all. It's just blank.

He flicks his ash out and over the chipping white sill and then he shakes his head slowly, the corner of his mouth starting to draw up in a sad imitation of a smile. "Darry's wrangling that damn trash bag out by the curb. He's dropped about half of it on the sidewalk." I can tell by his voice he's recovered already from the explosive argument and is now pitying our brother as he watches him struggle with the trash. Our trash.

I put my hands behind my head and say, "He's got a lot on his plate." It's the same thing Soda always says to me when I'm upset by Darry's constant hounding and angry lectures.

Finally Soda looks over at me and offers a tender smile. "That's supposed to be my line," he says softly.

"Well it's always been a good one. I guess cause it's true," I answer and then break into an eye-watering yawn.

Soda turns back to the window and I can hear Darry's faraway voice drifting through it, coming closer. "You know I hate it when you and Pony smoke in there," he says harshly. We've smoked in here for a year almost and he hasn't made us stop yet. I'm guessing he's just complaining to complain.

Soda's response is sharp and quick. "You know me and Pony here hate it when you treat us like we're a couple of dumbasses who don't do nothin round here but drain you." _Why am I suddenly being dragged into this?_

Darry is now right outside our window. I see his large hand reach through and beckon for Soda's cigarette. "Hand it over, Dumbass."

Soda passes it through and I'm surprised when Darry doesn't stomp it out. He takes it to his own lips and the lengthy drag he takes off of it seems to be one he's needed for a long time. He hands it back to Soda and says in a tone that's as gentle as Darry's ever gonna get, "Soda, I know how much you do around here. How hard you're workin'. Man, you think I could even begin to handle all this without your help?"

The last few flames of Soda's fire have been extinguished from Darry's apology. "I'm sorry too," he says with a hoarse voice that's in major need of sleep. "I know you got enough problems. I'll get the money somehow." And then his smile takes up his whole face. "Now I can't promise it'll all be legal." And my relief that it's over makes up for the fact that suddenly I'm realizing I must be the lone dumbass who "don't do nothin' round here."

"Get to bed, hot shot. You too Ponyboy." And with that Darry's gone. A soft rain has started up and Soda tosses his smoke right out into it, and I watch as his red hot embers sputter one final fiery glow, then very quickly, fizzle to dark.

 **A/N:** The Outsiders by SE Hinton

No music. Their radio was turned off that night :)


End file.
